


Discovering Molossia

by Mayhem21



Series: Representation Universe [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhem21/pseuds/Mayhem21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every nation alive knows that the United States of America has never had a personification. So who is this child Canada just met? Representation Universe, set 12 years before “In Need of Representation”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovering Molossia

**_August 2003_ **

Anxious to be done with his official duties, Canada started peeling off layers the moment the latest “Meeting of the Nations” ended. He groaned in misery as he stepped out of the Las Vegas convention hall and into the horribly dry desert heat. ‘I’m missing the Star Trek Convention for this,’ he thought mournfully. Slinging his jacket and tie over an arm, he started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. “I am not made for this,” he groaned, sticky sweat already forming under his collar. “Why in God’s name did anyone think building a city in a desert was a good idea?”

Ten minutes later, sweat dripping down his back, he pondered his decision to stay at a different hotel than the other nations. When it took 20 minutes more to get to his room, he intensely regretted it. But this is where his heart lay. Visions of the convention had distracted him throughout all his official meetings, and nothing beat being right in the heart of it, in the midst of all the other Trekkies.

Once he had finally, FINALLY, made it to the room, he promptly dropped his jacket and tie over the back of a chair and flopped face-down on the bed.

Canada felt a paw pat his head. “What’s wrong with you?” his companion asked in a curious voice.

“I melted walking back. I’m not actually here. I’m a puddle of Canadian goo outside on a sidewalk,” came his muffled reply.

The bed shifted and there was a soft thud as the small bear cub dropped onto the floor. “I thought you wanted to see that Bill Shatner guy?”

“The Trekkies are swarming downstairs,” Canada moaned. He buried his face deeper into the mattress. “There’s no way I’ll be able to get close enough for an autograph.” The nation’s misery was abruptly interrupted as a cold, soaking wet washcloth flew through the air and landed in the middle of his back with a squishy thump.

He screamed, the sudden sensation of _COLD WET_ causing him to jerk and twist, frantically trying to dislodge the cloth Kumajiro had deliberately soaked and thrown at him. With a thud and a gasp, he hit the floor, as his efforts to alleviate the uncomfortable condition sent him rolling off the bed. He struggled to regain his breath, face smashed against the rough carpet.

Kumajiro was giggling nearby. Traitor.

“All right, all right,” he groaned and he grabbed the bed, using it as leverage to haul himself upright. “Star Trek. Convention. Yaaay.”

* * *

A few hours later, Canada was humming happily to himself, Kumajiro in his arms and his backpack full of Star Trek merchandise. They’d waded through the mob waiting for the elevators, attended several panels, and were now en route to visit “Star Trek: The Experience”.

“How many Klingons do you think we’ll find in Quark’s Bar?” he wondered aloud in an excited voice. Canada had a real spring in his step, a marked contrast from earlier. He was finally having a good time despite the awful heat and the eternal horrible mood his colleagues existed in.

It was when he was walking down the staircase leading from the second floor lobby that he felt it -- the presence of another nation. But that couldn’t be, not here, not in the country with no personification. He squeaked, startled-- none of the others had ever mentioned interest in Star Trek before, why were they here?

Darting behind one of the pillars surrounding the expansive lower level, Canada swept his gaze from one side to the other of the round area, trying to find the nation he could _feel_ was close.

Nothing.

Absently setting Kumajiro down on a chair sitting next to a large potted plant, Canada started circling the room, turning as he moved, trying to find the nation. After several minutes of slow steps, he circled back to Kumajiro, frowning. Then-

Wait.

A child?

Canada dropped down into Kumajiro’s chair, squishing the polar bear to one side, and pulled his backpack into his lap. He dug through it for a moment before pulling something at random from its contents, then began to pretend to examine it while he considered the situation.

There was a child, four, maybe five years old, standing in a chair on the other side of the plant. His dark hair had bits of plant life in it and his face was smudged with dirt. He was wholly focused on the small stuffed rabbit in his hands, happily bouncing it across the dirt in a game of Pretend.

While Canada dithered over how to proceed, Kumajiro climbed up into the large pot and carefully crept around the tall fern, leaning forward to give the stuffed rabbit an inquisitive sniff.

‘Oh, oh I need to do something,’ Canada realized, a hint of panic starting to grow inside him. He shoved the action figure into his bag and then slung the pack onto his back, hurrying over before Kumajiro could frighten the small personification.

Rather than cry out in fear, however, the child, merely giggled at the white bear and stretched up on tiptoe to pat him on the head. “You’re a good doggie,” Canada heard.

Kumajiro blinked in surprise, glanced over at Canada, then back at the child. He let out a dog-like RRUFFF and laid down facing the child.

“You’re a Tyrannosaurus Rex,” the child pronounced. He bounced his stuffed rabbit towards the bear. “You have to protect Rabby while he tries to find his family from all the other dinosaurs that might try to eat him. It’s dangerous out there.” He nodded, more to himself, at this last pronouncement.

“I hope my, uh, dog isn’t bothering you,” Canada began in a gentle voice as he walked up to the child and ‘dog’.

“He’s a Tyrannosaurus Rex,” the child corrected in an exasperated voice, eyes locked on the scene before him.

“Oh, of course.” Canada dragged his chair around to the side of the pot and sat down, careful to leave space between himself and the child. He glanced around and frowned. “Are you lost?” he asked, worried. “Are you here with your parents?”

“They’re lost. I’m not. I know where I am.” The child turned and grinned at Canada. “My parents are that way!” He pointed upwards. “They’re on their way.”

“That’s good. Do you mind if I stay here with my, ah Tyrannosaurus Rex while you wait?”

“I don’t mind,” the child replied as he turned back to his rabbit and Kumajiro, humming under his breath as the stuffed animal hopped about searching for its family.

After watching for several moments, Canada leaned back and gave Kumajiro a fond scratch. “My name’s Matthew,” he finally said. “I have another name, though, a secret name.”

The child’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “You have a _secret_ name? Ooo, what is it? Can you tell me, please please please?”

“My other name is Canada.” The northern nation smiled at the child’s enthusiasm. “I’m a _nation_. Have you heard of the nation of Canada?”

With a scrunched face, the child shook his head. “What’s a nation?” he asked.

“Well, a nation is . . . Right now, we’re in the nation United States of America. Nations have leaders called Kings or Prime Ministers or Presidents.”

“My Daddy’s a President!” the child exclaimed, eyes glowing with excitement. “He’s President of Molossia! That’s where we live! Does that make us a nation too, Mr. Matthew? If we’re a nation do we get to have secret names like you? If I can have a secret name I promise I won’t tell anybody.” He finished by pulling his fingers across his mouth miming zipping them shut.

“Well, if you have a President, then you’re a nation and if you’re a nation, you definitely have a secret name!” Canada replied with a grin. “You must be Molossia! There’s one person you need to tell, though, if you want to be a nation.”

“Who?”

“The President of Molossia! It’s very important for a President to know who their nation is.”

Molossia squealed happily, bouncing up and down on the chair. He spun and started waving. “Daddy, Daddy, guess what? I’m a nation!” he called out. He gasped suddenly, hands flying to his mouth. “Oops, I’m not supposed to yell when I’m inside.”

“David, there you are,” came an unfamiliar but frazzled voice. “You shouldn’t run off like that!”

Canada turned and saw a stressed looking couple approaching. The father’s eyes narrowed when he spotted the Canadian. “Sorry,” the nation hurried to explain, “my dog wandered over and wanted to play. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a bother and when David said you were on your way I offered to stay until you arrived. Uh, again, sorry. For my dog. Um--”

“It’s fine,” the mother interrupted. She quickly scooped David up and began to fuss over him.

“Well, thanks for sitting with him,” the father said briefly, still looking suspiciously at the stranger he’d found with his son.

“No problem,” Canada replied. “I’ll, uh, I’ll head out now. Come on, boy,” he instructed Kumajiro, who promptly jumped down onto the chair. Canada scooped the bear up into his arms, eager to disappear.

“Bye Mr. Matthew!” Molossia called from his mother’s arms.

Canada gave him an awkward, one handed wave before disappearing into the crowd. As he slipped away, he heard the mother asking her husband, “Was that a _bear cub_?”

Once he was out of the lobby, Canada turned the brief encounter over in his mind. Molossia, huh? A micronation, by the sound of it. He needed to call his secretary, **fast**. He couldn’t help but shudder at what the tiny personification would have to endure if the other nations found out. 

* * *

**_July 2006_ **

Canada peered out the window of the car as the government vehicle continued south, gently sloping mountains dotted with rich green trees. As they drove, the Great Basin sprawled out in front of them, a “cool desert” with a variety of shrubs, grasses, and the occasional stubby tree.

Suppressing a sigh, the Canadian personification hugged his polar bear companion closer, quietly dreading the pending conversation. His people had started digging for information on the “Republic of Molossia” shortly after that fateful encounter in Las Vegas. They had located a website that the President of Molossia ran, which provided some background information on the micronation. It was also, they noted, almost completely lacking in any pictures or information relating to the Molossian President’s family.

Feeling somewhat relieved that the tiny child’s existence couldn’t be easily discovered by another nation, Canada waited until his regular New Year meeting to tell Dan about his startling discovery.

As the current American representative to the Personifications of the world, Dan Havens had a similar level of power and influence in the American government as Canada had with his own. The man faced a number of additional challenges, however, on top of the handicap of trying to do a Nation’s job when he was “only” human. He lacked the intuitive connecting to his population that other Nations held and it was argued by some that he was more vulnerable to corruption and the influence of bribery.

All told, though, Canada liked him. With the close relationship between the two countries, the men necessarily worked closely together on a wide range of issues, everything from trade, to water rights, and military cooperation.

And now they had the issue of the Republic of Molossia to deal with. An American-born personification had finally appeared after all these centuries. A personification -- the one thing the United States of America lacked.

A personification tied to a micronation art project and not the entire country.

The American Office of National Representation had delved into the history and background of the Republic of Molossia and its so-called citizens. Most interestingly of all was that the child Canada had met, David Nicholas Baugh, didn’t have a birth certificate. He’d been adopted by the family after he was found as a newborn baby crying alone on the property.

He’d been adopted on September 4, 1999, the day after Molossia’s creation had been proclaimed by the President.

From there, the discussions had raged for months, going back and forth on whether or not to approach the family or leave them alone. Canada was called upon to describe everything he knew about micronations, every encounter with Sealand and Seborga being picked over and over as they all tried discern what would happen to the small child as time went on.

In the end, they decided to wait and watch.

The Republic of Molossia continued to exist, adding new features to the small Nevada property  and making regular updates to the website. There were even small territorial expansions as additional pieces of property were purchased or claimed by the micronation.

As the years crept on, the personification of Molossia grew, no faster or slower than a regular human child. He attended school, played with friends, and seemed in every way possible a regular human child.

Canada dropped by once or twice a year, relying on his knack for invisibility to allow him to get close to the child without alarming him or the family. That sense of Nationhood remained strong around the child and there was no sign of him becoming human.

Then in 2006,  a war broke out between Molossia and a nearby, newly formed micronation, Mustachistan. The conflict lasted barely a week with a handful of “skirmishes” bringing the conflict to an end. It was during one of these skirmishes, however that the Molossian surveillance team reported a stunning development: the micronation personification was ill. The child had never gotten so much as a cold before and the sudden illness and recovery were unprecedented.

“This is it, Canada,” Dan told him over the phone after the peace accords were signed between the micronations. “The micronations are interacting more and more. It’s only a matter of time before it all becomes too much work and Baugh retires his nation-project. If we want this personification to live, we need to talk to the family.”

And that’s where they were now, hurtling down the dusty paved roads of rural Nevada to completely shatter the lives of an innocent family.

They had to explain the existence of personifications, micronation personifications, the lack of a personification for the United States, and successfully swear the citizens of “Molossia” to absolute secrecy. They could never abandon their micronation project, not without killing one of their cherished children, and they would live under the potential threat of another nation discovering him and descending upon them. All the fear and anger the others felt towards the United States of America would be unleashed on an innocent child as they pricked and poked and tormented him, trying to puzzle out what made him _different_.

The car slowed as it approached the micronation, a tall border marker and “Molossia” sign flanking the wide gravel driveway.

“Well, we’ve arrived,” Dan muttered from the other end of the bench seat. He leaned towards the center of the car, peering forward past the front seat through the windshield. “How badly do you think this is going to go?” he asked, turning to Canada, who could only shrug.

“Part of that will depend on whether Molossia himself has shown any . . . unusual abilities or insights we haven’t observed.” He squirmed in his seat. “This is completely new to me. I should have asked Australia how he handled Hutt River’s appearance back in the 70’s . . . ”  his voice trailed off and he thumped his head against the window, frustrated that the idea of calling the other nation hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

“Well, regardless, I appreciate you coming here,” the representative replied, reaching out to pat Canada’s knee. “With luck, your presence should help speed things along. And just having one of your kind around that _doesn’t_ treat us Americans like we’re the living undead is very appreciated.”

“I’m just glad I can help,” Canada sighed, still leaning against the window.

Once the car parked in the small driveway, the two representatives climbed out of the car and walked up the short path towards the front door. As the American rang the doorbell, Canada held Kumajiro close and prayed. Maybe, just maybe, this was a sign of some sort, and that the lonely continent of North America was about to become much more lively.

**Author's Note:**

> I never got to check out “Star Trek: The Experience” before it closed and have never been to Las Vegas or the Las Vegas Hilton. I made up all the details I couldn’t figure out from the Internet and the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine. 
> 
> The depiction of the Baughs, the President and First Lady of Molossia, was entirely created entirely by me for this story. As they are real, living persons, I chose to minimize their appearance to avoid possible mischaracterization.


End file.
